


Strangeness and Charm

by ThisWasInevitable



Series: Falling [6]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Light Angst, M/M, Mothman, Nightmares, TAZ Amnesty, handjobs, indruck, mentions of past disasters, our boys are just trying to take care of each other, takes place before the start of the current arc, valentines day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-19 14:36:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17603186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisWasInevitable/pseuds/ThisWasInevitable
Summary: Indrid is plagued by nightmares of the past and visions of the future. Duck is worried about his boyfriend.Indrid decides to distract himself with a traditional Earth celebration: Valentines Day.





	1. What's the Matter with me Love?

Indrid Cold is standing on the Silver Bridge

He doesn’t know how he got here.

He does not want to be here. He doesn’t want anyone to be here.

There is a rumble, a crack, and the world collapses into screaming chaos.

\------------------------

Duck is awoken by the feeling of Indrid tossing and turning next to him. He’s in his Sylph form, having forgone the glasses in order to provide Duck and himself with the extra warmth his bulk and fluff provides. 

It’s not the first time either of them has slept restlessly, but Duck decides he’ll wait a moment before rolling over and going back to sleep to see if Indrid wakes up and needs comfort.

There’s an ear-splitting screech and Indrids' wings shoot out, knocking a lamp to the floor with a smash and clipping Duck on his chin hard enough to bruise. By the time Duck recovers from the blow, Indrid is sitting bolt upright, looking around as though he doesn’t know where he is. A high, sad whimper fills the air as he wraps his wings in front of himself, pulling his legs up to his chest as he does. 

“Darlin'?” Duck leans cautiously towards the frightened shape.

No response, though the whimper ceases. 

“Indrid?” He scoots closer, brings a hand up and runs it soothingly against Indrids back and the parts of the wings he can reach. Gradually, the wings return to a relaxed position, but when Duck crawls in front of Indrid his knees are still pulled tight to his chest, arms wrapped around them and forehead pressed to them. 

“Glasses. Please.” 

Duck finds the red frames on the ground, places them in Indrids outstretched hand. He’s about to ask if Indrid needs anything when the now-human shape of his boyfriend crawls into his arms, gripping him tightly.

“Bad vision?”

“Nightmare. And since you’re about to ask, no, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Duck shrugs, hoping it conveys that he’s fine with that.

“You wanna try t’go back to sleep?”

“I’d rather not.” His face is pressed up against Ducks chest and he’s practically curled himself into a ball in Ducks lap (Duck’s still not sure how he manages to fold those long limbs into the shapes he does sometimes).

Duck glances at the clock. Well, he has to be at work in three hours anyway, may as well stay up and keep Indrid company. He rubs a hand reassuringly on Indrids shoulder.

“C’mon, let’s go out to the livin' room. You can read that romance novel you grabbed from the library while I make us breakfast.” 

Indrid sniffles, smiles up at him.

“You know, if you set the smoke alarm off this early Leo may never speak to you again.”

“I’ll make us somethin' that can’t catch fire this time.”

Indrid kisses him softly, still sniffling a bit.

“What would I do without you?”

“Don’t know, but I promise you ain’t gonna have to find out.”

\------------------------------------------------------

It’s been 24 hours since Indrid last slept.

He’d lain in bed with Duck the night after the bridge nightmare, but once he was sure the other man was asleep he’d padded out into the living room and spent the night drawing. When Duck asked him about it the next morning, he’d lied and said he’d fallen asleep on the couch for a bit. 

And now Duck is at work, and Indrid is pacing back and forth, Winnie watching him impassively. 

He can’t draw anymore right now, his hands are cramping too badly to hold a pen. He’s finished his book, but the thought of trekking to the library to get the next in book in “The Cowboys Conquest” series is too daunting. But he needs something to take his mind of the things he sees every time he tries to shut his eyes and rest.

Winnie jumps from the counter to the floor, knocking the stack of mail off as the does. Indrid sees it coming, grabs the pile before it scatters everywhere. 

Looking at the junk mail on top, he realizes that the overwhelming amounts of red on it are not due to his glasses, but to the fact that everything is covered in hearts. 

Ah, yes, Valentines Day, the earth ritual dedicated to love and chocolate. At least that’s how he understands it from decades of observation. 

He flicks through the futures, wondering how Duck intends to spend the 14th. 

Hmm, interesting. As of now, Duck doesn’t appear to have anything romantic happen to him that day.

Indrid may have just found the project he needs to distract himself. 

\--------------------------------------------------

His boyfriend hasn’t slept in two days. Maybe three. Duck’s not sure, but he’s positive Indrid is lying every time he says he fell asleep on the couch or napped while Duck was at work. Just because he can’t lie for shit doesn’t mean he can’t tell when other people are lying. 

Worse, Indrid doesn’t seem willing to tell Duck what’s going on. Duck’s not going to push it, but Indrid’s clearly distressed and he wishes he knew how to help.

After all, Indrid’s helped him plenty over the last few months. The loss of his power, his shift into normalcy, and all the ways that threw his body through loops, Indrid did his best to help him adjust. He listened to Duck complain, patched up scrapes and scratches, put muscle rub in all the places Duck had never realized could be that sore. Coaxed Duck out of bed on the few days when he wanted to lay there until the earth opened and swallowed him whole. And pulled him into bed for things that made Duck forget that anything bad existed in the world. 

There’s also the fact that Duck is in love with Indrid. 

He hasn’t said it yet, keeps that four-letter word locked as tightly as he can in his chest. He doesn’t want to rush Indrid, or pressure him, or jump the fucking gun and get more attached to that strange, beautiful man than said man is to him. He’s almost cracked a few times, like when Indrid was performing elaborate seductions all because he wanted Duck to know he wanted to have sex, but didn’t want him to think he only wanted him for sex. Or when he’d come home to Indrid desperately trying to wash Winnie after she had a Kool-Aid based accident, speaking soothingly to the furious cat, wet shirt plastered to his front. 

He loves him. He hasn’t had time to consider all that means. 

But he knows it means he has to do something to soothe the poor guy. 

To top everything off, Indrid asked a question about Valentines Day this morning. He wanted to know if there was anything Duck would like to do for it. He’d stammered out a lie and bailed out of the conversation as quickly as possible. He doesn’t want Indrid to go to any trouble, especially with all the heavy stuff he seems to be dealing with. But now he’s beginning to think he should do something for Indrid for Valentines Day. You know, to help with his research about Earth.

At least he knows where to ask for help on that subject.

When he gets off work, he heads over to the lodge to look for Barclay. Finds him in the kitchen, working on a batch of scones. 

“Afternoon, Duck. If you’re looking for Mama I think she’s out at the springs talking to some of the guests.”

“Naw, I was actually lookin' for you. I had a question about Sylvain.”

Barclay pops a baking tray into the oven, turns to look at Duck.

“Why do I get the sense this isn’t Pine Guard related?”

“It ain’t.”

“Is it, by chance, Indrid related?”

“N-, uh, I mean, fuck, naw, shit. Yes.”

“Please just tell me, if you try to lie anymore it’s going to take all evening and I have work to do.”

“Look, could’ya tell me if there’s any like…courtship rituals on Sylvain? Y’know, stuff y’all do if you’re tryin' to romance someone?”

“There are, or at least there used to be. But I haven’t been back in a long time for anything other than Pine Guard business, and goodness knows how long it’s been since Indrid’s been back there. For all I know there’s some old-fashioned Sylvain tradition that was in fashion when he was growing up that I've never heard of.” 

“Fuck.”

Barclay snorts out a small laugh, before taking pity on Duck.

“Look,my understanding was that you’re supposed to show the entity you’re ‘courting’ that you can take care of them. Bring them food, build them something, things like that.”

“Take care of ‘em. Right. Thanks, Barclay.”

“Good luck.” He turns back to the oven with a smirk. 

Duck appreciates the sentiment. He’s got a sinking feeling he’s going to need all the luck he can get.


	2. Pattern to Pattern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indrid just wants to plan, well, literally anything. But all he can see is disaster.
> 
> Duck executes some emergency relaxation maneuvers.

Four days.

Indrid hasn’t slept in four days.

He’s fine. This is fine.

He tried to nap, he really did. He woke up in a panic again, not the bridge but the earthquake this time. 

Worse, there’s a bad future on the horizon and he cannot figure out the pieces of it. The corkboard on the wall is a tangle of drawings and strings, crossed out images and torn paper. He knows Duck can tell something is wrong. Heck, the cat can probably tell at this point. 

The odds of him and Duck having a fight about this are increasing by the hour, if the futures are anything to go by.

On the plus side, Duck is so preoccupied with worry he hasn’t noticed Indrid planning for Valentines Day. He’d called Ned, asking for a favor; a stack of magazines from the library, whatever ones had articles on Valentines Day (and the next two books in “The Cowboys’ Conquest”). Ned had delivered them, departing with a look of concern on his face that Indrid pretends is unrelated to his increasingly bedraggled appearance. 

He’s done some of the recommendations when seducing Duck before; flowers, massages, romantic dinners. Those he eliminates right away, for fear of seeming uncreative. Other suggestions don’t make sense; Duck doesn’t wear lingerie (neither does Indrid, for that matter), doesn’t like jewelry, and they can’t take a surprise “romantic getaway” because an abomination is due soon.

Why is this so hard? Surely humans never struggle to come up with ideas for this ritual.

In the middle of crossing off suggestions for “how to blow his mind this V-Dday” another future flashes and he bolts for his notepad, scribbles furiously, looks at the final result before pinning it to the board: a front view of a building with a sign reading, “The Little Dipper.”

\--------------------------------

On day five of Indrid not sleeping, Duck finally cracks. He’s seriously considering getting some of the bear tranquilizers a wildlife biologist left behind and using them on his boyfriend. 

He unlocks the door to the apartment. The long shape of Indrid is stretched out, face-down, on the floor in front of his corkboard. His breathing looks even, and he doesn’t move as Duck makes his way inside.

Thank sweet baby Jesus, he’s finally asleep. Duck pulls a blanket off the bed, drapes it over Indrid. Figures he’ll leave him be rather than risk waking him up by carrying him to bed. 

Winnie bumps up against him and he bends down to scratch her head.

“How was work?”

“JESUS HELL!” 

Indrid has turned his head towards Duck, staring at him blankly. 

“Sorry.”

“I thought you were asleep, scared the hell out of me.”

“Apologies.”

“Can you even get up?”

“Probably.”

“Alright, that does it. Y’gotta go to sleep. C’mon.” Duck reaches to start pulling Indrid up, only for him to recoil backwards.

“No! I can’t!”

“Like hell you can’t. If you don’t sleep soon, you’re gonna start hallucinatin'. Or worse.”

“No, no, that’s still better than, than..”

“Than what?” Duck snaps.

“Than dreaming about every time I failed! Imagining all the pain and terror I could have prevented, all the people I couldn’t save. Than waking up and seeing this” he leaps up and points at the web of drawings “again and not being able to make sense of it, only knowing enough to know to be afraid for this town, for the lodge, for you. If I stay awake, I won’t have to see those failures, can maybe make sense of this, can maybe, maybe save you.”

“If you want to save me, could you start by not killin' yourself and takin' years off my life because I’m stressin' over you.” Duck regrets saying those words when hurt flickers across Indrids face. It’s quickly replaced by anger.

“You’re not invincible anymore Duck! I’ve saved you more than once, by the by, so forgive me for thinking you’d prefer to stay in one piece.”

“We are not makin' this about me” Duck can feel the ice creeping into his voice, and he’s too tired, too upset to stop it. 

“You’re quite right. Get out.”

“This is my fuckin' house.”

“I’m aware. And this is my break-down to handle. Out.”

Duck clenches his fists, counts to ten. Turns and walks out the door, slamming it behind him. 

\-------------------------------------------------------

Duck returns an hour and a half later, determined and armed with several large bags. 

It’s not much of plan, he knows that. But it’s the best he’s got. 

He shoulders the door open, is greeted by the sight of Indrid, defeated, on the floor with his hands tangled in his pale hair. He glances up when Duck plunks the bags on the table, teartracks visible even in the low light of the space heater he’s seated by. If Duck hadn’t burned through all his anger an hour ago, that sight would have sucked the last of it away.

He kneels down in front of Indrid.

“Hey, darlin.” He brushes hair out of Indrids face, keeps his hand on his cheek when Indrid leans into the touch, turning his head to press his lips into Ducks palm

“I’m sorry I lost my temper.” Indrid whispers, bringing his hand to rest on top of Ducks.

“We ain’t really had a lovers spat yet, as it were. Guess we were due.”

“Still.” 

“I know, still don’t make it pleasant. ‘M sorry too.” He takes Indrids other hand, kisses his knuckles.

“I got an idea for how I can help, if you’ll let me.” He starts guiding Indrid to his feet, the other man swaying a worrisome amount. 

“Mmmhmm.”

“Sit tight for me.” He directs Indrid to the kitchen table, pulls several things out of the bags, makes his way to the bathroom and starts drawing a bath, as hot as possible because that’s how Indrid likes it. Tosses two bright pink bath bombs into the water, the scent of strawberry and vanilla filling the room as he goes to fetch the exhausted heap of a man waiting for him in the other room.

Once Indrid is maneuvered into the bathroom, Duck points to the tub, indicating that he should get in it. Indrid tries to do just that. Fully clothed.

“Uh, Indrid? Might want to take those off first.”

Indrid looks down, then drops his head back with a laugh. 

“Goodness, I really do need to sleep.” He tugs off his sweater, ends up having to steady himself on Duck in order to get his sweatpants off. 

He finally sinks into the tub with a sigh. 

“Is this the extent of your plan?”

“Nope. You just relax for a bit while I get the rest ready.”

He ducks into the bedroom, grabs a pair of pajamas and sets them in front of one of the heaters (not too close, the last thing he needs is them catching fire). Then he starts some hot water on the stove, pulls out the box of “sleepytime” tea, puts a bag into a mug. 

The candles are next. The book he got from the library (thank god they close late on Fridays) has a list of scents that are supposed to encourage restful sleep, so he’d grabbed lavender, jasmine, and sandalwood candles from the drug store. He grabs the jasmine one, takes it to the bedroom and lights it. Tosses his jacket in the direction of the closet before leaving. Gets back to the kitchen just in time for the water to boil. 

By the time he returns to the bathroom, mug in one hand and the final piece of his plan in the other, Indrids eyes have fluttered closed. A wet hand reaches out for the mug two seconds before Duck is about to offer it. 

“Are you going to tell me what inspired all this?”

“Dunno, am I?” Duck settles down beside the tub, his joints cracking as he does. Through the steam on the lens of the glasses, he barely sees Indrid crack an eye open before smiling at him. 

“Yes, you are.”

“I found a book for people who are havin' trouble sleepin', like with nightmares and such. Thought we could try some of the things it suggests, see if it does anythin' to help you.”

He twists the cap off the jar he’s holding and is hit with a powerful smell of cocoa. So that’s what the label means by “sugar scrub.” 

“Relaxin' your muscles is a big thing in the book. It said to take a bath and get a rub-down, figured we could kill two birds with one stone.” Duck rolls up his shirtsleeves.

“Gimme your leg.”

Indrid obeys, props his leg on the edge of the tub. Duck takes some of the scrub into his hand, begins to rub it across Indrids foot, then up his leg. He takes his times, does his best to work out each knot he comes across. He repeats the process with the other leg, each arm, and most of his boyfriends' back and shoulders, and gradually the room is filled with a sound Duck hasn’t heard in almost a week: Indrids' content, happy hum. 

Duck rinses his hands in the water, and as he does Indrid gazes at him lovingly. 

“That turned you on.”

“You got fuckin' x-ray vision now?” Duck thought he’d hidden that well, given that he kept everything below his belt concealed by the side of the tub.

“No, there’s a future where you mention that hadn’t quite disappeared.”

“Alright, ya got me. Gettin' my hands on you tends to get me goin'. But tonight ain’t about me darlin'.”

“Very well.” Indrid turns his gaze back up to the ceiling. Duck is drying his hands off when he notices the hum is starting to be interrupted by small chirps. He rotates back towards the tub. Yep, one of Indrids’ arms is moving slowly under the water. Indrid catches his eye, gives him a playful smile.

“I’m merely following your lead; orgasm also relaxes the body and can help aid in falling asleep, oh.” His back arches, rippling the water, and Duck can’t help but lean over the tub to kiss him. He dips his hand into the water to replace Indrids own, a delighted laugh escaping the taller man when he does. It’s not the most elegant handjob he’s given, not with Indrid pulling him precariously closer to pepper his face with kisses and his ministrations splashing water all over the place. But Indrid is giggling and Duck is starting to laugh too, with relief and joy at seeing a glimmer of the man he’s lost over the last few days reappear. A gasp echoes through the little room as Indrid comes. Duck pulls away from him, panting and grinning like a fool. 

“Well, I think I should perhaps get out of this water now.”

“Agreed.” Duck grabs the fluffiest towel he has, wraps it around Indrid when he stands up. Brings him the now-toasty pajamas, bundles him off to the bedroom. 

By the time he’s locked up the house for the night, gotten ready for bed and turned off/blown out anything that could burn the place down, Indrid is burrowed under layers of blankets.

Duck cuddles in next to him, lets Indrid pull him close, his head tucked under the taller man’s chin.

“Mmm, you’re so warm and fuzzy. Like the best kind of teddy bear.” He mutters sleepily. 

“Ain’t that kind of bear, darlin'.” Duck yawns. 

Indrid is already out cold. 

Duck smiles, switches off the light. 

Several hours later, Indrid rolls out of the bed with yelp. Duck shakes himself awake, turns on the light as Indrid crawls back onto the bed. 

“Darn it.” He flops onto the covers with a huff.

“Book says it won’t stop right away. But that if you talk about it that might sorta get it outta your system.” 

Indrid looks at Duck, purses his lips as if he's weighing his options.

And then he talks. He tells Duck about the bridge, about how after it people started blaming him for the very things he kept trying to stop. How he goes back every so often, a penance for his own miscalculations. 

Duck makes sympathetic sounds, strokes his hair, asks a few questions. Mostly, he listens. And then asks Indrid to tell him a happy memory. Something to replace the bad images because maybe that will help. Indrid weaves the story of the first time he saw Las Vegas all lit up, how he watched it from the desert in his Sylph form so that he could see all the colors, the ones the makers of the lights didn’t even know were there. The fact he’d won quite a bit of money that day made it all the sweeter (he swears he only used it to repair the Winnebago). At some point, they both drop off to sleep.

And wake up many hours later, well rested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, two days ago: This one will probably stay a "T" rating.  
> Me, now: Son of a..
> 
> Next up: Aubrey takes Indrid on a field trip. Duck sizzles something up.


	3. Feel it on Me Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aubrey tries to help. Duck cooks. Indrid goes shopping

“Amnesty Lodge, this is Aubr”

“Hello Aubrey, I have a favor to ask.”

“Oh, hi Indrid!”

“Barclay is going to ask you to make an errand run to the next town over. I would like to come with you.”

“Uhhhh, sure?”

“Wonderful, I will see you in a few hours.”

\-----------------------------------------------

Aubrey has her suspicions. But she waits until Indrid is in the car and unable to flee before she springs them on him. 

Plus, Dr Harris Bonkers, PhD, is seated on his lap, meaning he can’t tuck and roll out the door while they're on the highway. 

“Sooooooo?”

“Yes, this has to do with Duck.”

“Knew it!” 

Indrid glares at her from under his scarf.

“Ah, c’mon, I think you two are cute together. Besides, I worry about Duck being all by himself and doing what we do with the Pine Guard. I’m glad he’s got someone who’ll watch his back when we’re not around.”

Indrids' expression softens (he’ll admit he’s felt much less irritable now that he’s sleeping). He pats Dr Harris Bonkers, PhD, on the head. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t choose to leave him at the lodge.”

“Eh, he gets bored. It’s good for him to have a field trip. Also he’s going to the groomers to get his nails trimmed. But don’t tell him that. The last time it took four groomers to hold him in place because he’s such a large gentleman. Aren’t you?” She smiles at the rabbit fondly. 

“He’s eating my sweater.”

“That means he likes you!”

Indrid shrugs, continues petting the fuzzy head in his lap.

“To pass the time on our journey, perhaps you could tell me what most humans do for Valentines Day.”

“I don’t know, I don’t really pay much attention to it since it’s just a big corporate holiday designed to sell stuff and says romantic love is the only kind of love that matters.”

“I see. So when Dani asks you to dinner that night you are not going to accept?” Indrid asks, genuinely curious. 

“She’s going to ask me out!?”

“That’s the most likely outcome.”

“Okay, fine, it’s actually really fun when you have someone to spend a day doing goofy romantic shit with.”

“Such as?” Indrid perks up.

“Flowers and chocolates, shitty poetry or songs you write for them that you hope to god no one ever sees but that makes them happy, love letters, huge teddy bears, fancy dinner, fancy presents, sex, hmmm what else” She taps a finger on the wheel, thinking. Indrid stares out the window, watches the slush and trees flash by. None of those things sound like what he needs to do for Duck, though he appreciates the help.

Is there really anything he can do to show Duck how much it means to him that they’re together? Especially after Duck has been so kind and patient with him as he deals with his nightmares and the stress of the undecipherable bad visions (he keeps thanking him, and every time he does Duck simply kisses him and tells him that taking care of each other is part of the deal).

“You don’t know what to do for Duck, do you?”

Indrid shakes his head.

“I mean, are you sure you even need to do anything? He doesn’t strike me as the Valentines Day type.”

“He responds quite well to romance, stop giving me that look I simply mean it makes him happy, and when I asked him it was clear he would like it if I did something to mark the day.”

“Can’t you just ask him to be more specific? It’s not like he can lie about it.”

“I tried, but every time he stammers something and then excuses himself to use the restroom.”

“Ha, the trick I taught him is working!” She says triumphantly.

“I’d be annoyed with you except that trick may save our hides one day, especially if Stern keeps poking around.”

“What if you used something from Sylvain instead? There must have been some sort of, I dunno, dating etiquette you learned when you lived there.”

“It was a long time ago, plus different residents of Sylvain have different courtship traditions.”

“Well, what are the ones for your...type?” 

“I believe my parents did a mating dance. And composed elaborate poetry. There may have been wine involved? I tried not to listen, as I was a child and did not want to know those sorts of things. What’s so funny?”

“The thought of you doing a dance for Duck or, oh my god, or the idea of Duck doing a mating dance.” Aubrey guffaws at the last idea, and Indrid begins to laugh as he pictures Duck trying to do some of the courtship dances he remembers from Sylvain. The image keeps them giggling until they reach the mall (Aubrey is overjoyed that Indrids' foresight makes finding parking a breeze).

\-----------------------------------------------

Duck has everything prepared. 

Apron. Check

Cookbook. Check

Fire extinguisher. Check

He is going to make this work, for Indrid. Even if it takes all day. 

Even if he keeps accidentally burning his hands on things.

He would do anything to make Indrid happy. 

\--------------------------------------

It’s midafternoon, and Indrid and Aubrey are only half done with their errands. They’ve deposited a furious Dr Harris Bonkers, PhD, at the groomers and Indrid is still no closer to figuring out his Valentines gift for Duck. 

Aubrey suggests a snack break, dragging him into a self-serve frozen yogurt place. 

“Aubrey, it is winter. The cold time. This is food for a warm time.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s an anytime food.” She waves at the young man at the counter, who Indrid realizes with terror is the young man whose car he ruined saving Duck. Well, he supposes he’ll just have to tip extra. 

Aubrey fills a cup with a rainbow of flavors. Indrid settles on pineapple, dumps as much caramel syrup on it as he can. They’re rung up by a different young man, a bit taller and with a beard coming in, who chats enthusiastically with Aubrey about the patches on her vest while Indrid finds a seat. 

As they’re eating, something occurs to him.

“You know, there is one other courtship tradition from my home. You’re supposed to gather objects you feel a potential partner would like and display them in or around your, well, I guess humans call it a nest. If a partner likes them, it’s a sign they are a good match.”

“Like a Bower Bird.”

“A what now?”

“It’s a bird where the male decorates his nest all fancy to lure in the ladies.” Aubrey bounces her eyebrows suggestively. 

“Oh yeah, I saw that on a nature show! It’s really cool and kinda sweet!” They both turn, startled, when the young man behind the counter says this. His coworker, the one with the glasses, whacks him on the arm. 

“Trav, you can’t just parachute yourself into conversations. We’re gonna get written up again.”

“What? I think it’s a sweet idea. He should totally do that.”

The man with the glasses is about to say something else when a third young man skids into the store, wheezing with laughter. Indrid could swear he’s heard that laugh before.

“You guys have got to come see this right now.”

“Justin what the hell? You supposed to be at work. In Kepler!” 

“Got fired, long story. But you gotta come see, if you look in the window at the groomers right now there’s a huge fuckin' rabbit and there’s like five guys tryin' to keep itahhhahaaheee.”

“Oh, shit!” Aubrey jumps up and runs from the store, Indrid trailing behind her. 

“Thank you for the yogurt, and for the advice!” He calls over his shoulder, before taking off after the black clad blur of his friend.

\----------------------------------

Duck’s only set off the fire alarm twice.

Not too shabby. 

He’s no closer to his goal than he was this morning.

That is extremely fucking shabby, he thinks as he scowls at the cookbook.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

One extremely tense conversation with the groomers later, Indrid, Aubrey, and their still disgruntled furry companion are weaving through the mall (Indrid had no idea a rabbit could be on a leash. The world is full of wonders). But this time, Indrid has a list. 

“Right, I need to go to the camping store, the bookstore, somewhere that sells band-aids, and wherever one goes to acquire things that are soft and pleasant to touch. Plushies, yes, that’s the word, thank you Aubrey.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to. I will meet you and the small troublemaker with the doctorate back here in two hours.”

“Kay, have fun!” Aubrey waves, accidentally sets off a flash paper.

“Man, I gotta start cleaning my stuff out more.”

\---------------------------------------------------------

Indrid is quite pleased with himself and, if he can pull things off correctly, he foresees Duck being pleased as well. 

When he gets to the door, he panics for a second when he smells something burning, but a glance a few seconds ahead soothes his nerves. 

The sight that greets him is comedic levels of chaotic: Duck is in the middle of the kitchen in a singed apron with his back to Indrid, almost every pot they own is in the sink, several layers of something unidentifiable is caked onto the stove, there are eggshells everywhere, and Winnie is licking a puddle of liquid off the floor (there are no vet visits in the future, which is a relief). 

“Busy day?”

“Gah! No! Yes.” Duck spins to face him, hiding something on the counter behind his back.

“I, uh, meant to get it all clean before you got home but uh.” He gestures helplessly at the mess surrounding him. 

“Dare I ask what this is all for?”

“You haven’t seen it comin'?” 

“There have been many futures that demanded attention, I’ll admit to spending less time focusing on my own.”

Duck carefully moves his hands from behind his back, presents Indrid with a single mug full of something warm.

Something that smells like cinnamon. And nutmeg.

Even in his human form, Indrid can feel his antennae vibrating with recognition at that scent. 

“I made you.”

“Eggnog.” Indrid finishes along with Duck. Takes a sip. It’s lovely.

“I wanted to surprise you with somethin' for Valentines Day, and Barclay said I should show that I could take care of you, like build you somethin' or make you food. And, well, I know we run out of nog a week ago, and there ain’t gonna be anymore til November, and I know it’s your favorite. So I thought I’d learn to make it for you myself. Ah, hell, it sounds silly when I say it aloud like that.”

Indrid gently sets the mug down in a safe location.

Then he practically leaps on Duck, wrapping his legs around his waist and kissing him as hard as he can. Duck tries valiantly to hold him up but overbalances, bringing them both onto the floor, sending Winnie fleeing with a hiss. 

When he finally breaks away, Ducks hair is a mess and he’s gasping for breath.

“Sorry for droppin' you, or, well, us.”

“No need to apologize, you perfect, perfect wonderful man.” 

“I, uh, take it you like your present?”

“It’s wonderful, thank you.”

He stands, pulling Duck up with him. Takes another grateful sip from the mug.

“Now, go into the bedroom.”

“That good huh?” Duck smiles at him teasingly. 

“Well, yes, but that’s not why. I want to get my present ready.”

“You know Valentines Day is still a few days away right?”

“We appear to having a Valentines Day observed. Now, shoo.” He waves Duck into the bedroom, closes the door. Then he gets to work. 

Nearly an hour later, he knocks on the door.

“It’s ready!”

Duck steps out of the room looking genuinely unsure as to what he’s about to see. Indrid watches as he notices the objects carefully laid out on and around the couch, one at a time. A new lantern, a squishy moth plush (for nights he’s gone, he found it at a place calling itself the Hot Topic)), the softest flannel shirt he could find, a multi-impact bike helmet, several model boat kits he’s sure Duck doesn’t have, a new field guide to Western Virginia plants (the last one had suffered a Winnie-related accident) and four separate first aid kits. 

“Indrid?” Duck seems stuck between confusion and joy.

“Were I trying to woo you back on Sylvain, I would have built you an elaborate structure filled with potential gifts to see if you were compatible with me. But since we’re here, and I already know we’re a good match, I decided to modify the tradition to present you with things you like or need.”

Duck blinks at him.

“Did..did I do well?” Indrids’ confidence falters in the silence.

Duck nods, quickly wipes a thumb under his eye.

“Yeah, uh, you, uh did real good. Been a long time since anyone did anythin' this elaborate for me for Valentines Day.” 

“That’s a shame. You’re special, someone ought to do things like this for you often.” He means it earnestly, doesn’t realize the subtext until Duck smiles at him, teary-eyed.

“So you’re sayin' you’re stayin' around for more than just a few months?”

Indrid draws Duck into his arms.

“I will stay as long as you’ll have me, my sweet human.”

Duck grips him tighter, and over his shoulder Indrid glimpses his tangle of prophecies, still unsolved. 

No. He’ll deal with that in the morning. 

Right now he only wishes to see the present, to feel Duck against him, to marvel in the warm, deep feeling that spreads out from his heart into the rest of him. 

Love. 

He loves Duck.

And that is all he wants to think about for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I had five people to help me clip the nails of my giant rabbit. 
> 
> The next work will be in this universe. Perhaps we will learn more about Indrids new favorite book series.

**Author's Note:**

> Annnd we're back in this fic-verse! 
> 
> Questions, comments, requests? Just want to say hi? Come find me at Inevitable Indruck: https://thiswasinevitableid.tumblr.com/


End file.
